Nights Like These
by Plasticframed Paintings
Summary: They were untouchably clean – a testament of strength, an anchor for the world. So when did things become so complicated?


'A storm', the news had warned earlier that morning, '-the biggest storm of the season, as our experts have predicted! Make sure your children are safe. Take in your flags and umbrellas.' Practical advice for practical people, so it only made sense that the X-Laws kept their flags and banners high when the people on shore were scrambling to move things into shelter. They remained untouchably, painfully white – a testament of strength against the vicious, tearing wind, even as they screamed in protest, ripping slightly, _slightly_ – but it wasn't anything important. Not now. Not ever. And certainly not for him.

These were the nights that kept Lyserg Deithel alive.

The safety rails of the ship were his resting place still; like the stubborn flags overhead, he refused to bow to the gales. Some might call him foolish, but to his teammates he was just himself, spending another evening on the dock and oh, dear, be careful because the storm _is_ supposed to get pretty bad this time, remember? Even his teammates had redeeming qualities.

The rest of the world seemed to think they were monsters – beings cloaked in white to hide the ugly stain of their sins. And maybe they were; Lyserg wasn't entirely sure anymore. Over a third of the team had succumbed to Hao and he was still no more sure of his position in life than the flag twisting, battling with the wind. God knew they weren't saints, and these were the nights that made him question if they could really hold out long enough to see the end of their goals. Maybe someone more merciful would come along and do things right – a certain brunette came to mind, causing Lyserg to drop his head against the cold metal he was leaning against. It resounded with a dull, hollow thud.

Maybe at this point, it was only the truly merciful that could fix things. True, he'd been dazzled by the displays of power and strong words that his current team always carried with them, but he wasn't an idiot and even though he couldn't yet admit it out loud, he knew they were far from the harbingers of mercy they so wanted to be.

Just, maybe, but not merciful. Never merciful.

His fingers weren't gloved this time and one hand moved to prop his fallen head up, the other dangling aimlessly over the rail. _Never, ever merciful. _His arm fascinated him at that moment. White white against heavy dark – 'the ocean seems angry', he mused, staring at the tar coloured mass as it swirled and slammed and dragged things down to places he couldn't see. The only thing he could hear over the screeching of the storm and flag was the constant, rusty-throated groan of a too-big ship battling the waters. Unlike so many slim, wooden vessels though, theirs stayed afloat; firm and strong as anything.

Even nature had her favourites, and if She decided that they were decent enough to survive, shouldn't that had been a sign? Wasn't he supposed to be looking for signs now? Things that he overlooked before – little things like their ship beating a storm – tiny things that Jeanne would point out to him. He could picture her with her hands folded politely in her lap, explaining over and over again that they were right, they had to be right, and here, have some physical evidence as to why we are right. As a detective he should have abandoned all doubts at that, but as a descendant of the Deithels, he should know better than to take anything as truth with something as insubstantial as 'evidence'.

He tilted his head just a small bit so that the angry salt-bearing wind would stay out of his eyes, fixing his attention again on the dark waters below. It was so, so angry. So angry and frustrated and it absorbed everything around it like dust into water, swallowing the sky as it opened and immediately drenched all unfortunate enough to still be outside.

When did the world become so complicated?

One leg slid up, up, over the rain-covered rail and for a frightening second, Lyserg nearly lost his balance as he brought the other to join it. His palms were also slick with water, and only with an iron grip could he remain seated without fear of toppling over and being swallowed along with everything else. White knuckles matched the white of his cuffs, and with each crack of lightning the metal adorning his uniform shone brightly.

The brightness was almost humiliating. 'Am I a circus act or an X-Law?' He scoffed at the thought, though his gaze moved away from the gaudy silver X at his sleeve.

If he strained his eyes hard enough, he could make out the edge of the shore on the other side of their small cove. White, white beach sand caught the cracks of light, though it shone much more gracefully than anything he could ever muster. 'Maybe if I were someone like that, maybe if I was something like that, maybe, maybe I--'

The second accident of the night was narrowly avoided thanks to the reflexes that Marco had helped him to hone; his fingers clung to metal tighter than ever in reaction to the featherlight tap on his shoulder as opposed to his original reaction to let go and raise his arms in self-defense. He couldn't say the X-Laws didn't have their strong points in training.

'Jeanne?'

The young girl looked even more waif-ish than usual in such a roaring storm. He had never noticed how thread-bare her pajamas were before, or how light her hair actually seemed to be. Without all of that metal holding her down, Lyserg was suddenly struck with a horrible, gut-wrenching fear that the wind would simply pick her up and carry her away, far away to places that he couldn't see. Despite his better judgment he dropped one hand from the railing and held it out for her to take, which she did.

'What are you doing out in this storm?'

Worry laced her words, and it was kind of cute. He offered a half-smile before staring into the water again, and Jeanne was not asked to join him but she knew that's what he wanted and in a second, they were both marvelling at the endless pool. Lyserg wiggled his toes experimentally, wondering how the water would feel against them. A few moments of amicable silence passed between the two.

'Lyserg, you should come back inside now. '

He swung his legs a bit, listening to the dull thunk-thunk of his heels hitting the bars of the railing he was perched on.

'Lyserg, the storm will get worse.'

He shifted a bit, his upper body leaning forward even though he was still using his arm to anchor Jeanne to the dock.

'Lyserg.'

_When did the world become so complicated?_

'Lyserg?'

Finally, he turned his attention away and back to his leader, starting in surprise when he saw salty, salty rain on her pretty face. For a moment, he was looking to move his free arm and wipe those tears away, but both arms were in use. He needed to anchor them both to the ground. Instead, he offered a smile, squeezing her tiny hand in a gentle, reassuring way.

'The storm won't get worse. Don't worry.'

A look of doubt fluttered across her delicate face, before all was wiped away with a hurried, rain soaked hand, and she too was smiling. They were both smiling, and it was sickening and beautiful and the flag overhead gave a last shriek as the wind tore away at it, gnawing and tugging until the last strong stitch had broken and the white square was dragged away with the storm.

They watched it become smaller and smaller, a ridiculously miniscule patch of light in the overwhelming darkness that only shone once, twice before it was eaten by hungry, unforgiving waves. No, Lyserg did not know where he belonged in this life and like the flag, the X-Laws were not perfect. They were not unbreakable, they were not unstoppable, and they sure as hell weren't saints.

But the slip of a girl next to him was as helpless as paper and as strong as an anchor. It was foolish of him, he realised, to think of himself as the one holding both of them down when it was so obviously the other way around. Her tiny hand in his was enough to keep him grounded; it was that last stitch, and he would cling to it desperately against the pull of the storm.

His grip tightened and his smile grew softer – a special smile just for her. Her return smile was almost lost in a curtain of wild silver hair, which she pushed back embarrassedly, laughing like an innocent child and then- then they were both laughing, and it was not sickening but beautiful, and all he had in the world. Amidst the wind and the rain, the empty clatter of metal on metal from the abandoned flagpole above, Lyserg found another reason to keep moving forward.

Because these were the nights that kept them both alive.


End file.
